Not One More
by CrysWimmer
Summary: Not all tragedies in life come from fast vipers and evil cylons...


**Not One More**

**By Crystal Wimmer**

3,699 Words

Rated PG-13 – sensitive topic

Author's note: Okay – I don't normally warn about stories or give away endings, but most of my readers are well aware that I am a "happily ever after" type of writer, and I feel that I have a duty to place a warning here. Not all aspects of life have happy endings. Those trials which do not kill us make us stronger, but that doesn't mean that they're fun to live through. Enough said.

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Not one more. It was the only thought that Kara had been able to form as she listened to the sterile comm announcement that Priest Eloshia had died. Unlike the hundreds of deaths which had bombarded them all at the beginning of the war, this one was different. It was more; it was worse.

If anyone had ever told Kara that she would be grieving for a priest, she would have thought them insane. Even after she'd begun sessions with the holy woman to sort out fears and anxieties which ranged from the dangers of her job to the profession of her best friend, and even after admitting to herself that the faith she'd been raised with was not going away, she had resisted her reliance on the old woman. But regardless of what she knew about herself, and what she was certain of, and what she was afraid of… Kara had lost a friend today.

How many more? This hadn't been to the war, or even to the inevitable accidents which had followed their flight from the Cylons. This was worse. Natural causes – simple old age – had taken the one person who Kara believed she could talk to. She had been the one woman who had understood, and had never judged, and had never offered trite answers because she was unconditionally objective. She had never thought Kara week for believing in what most thought was a mere fantasy; Eloshia had believed, too.

As much as Bill and Lee, and even Sharon for that matter, had tried to understand her, they all had their own preconceived notions and their own concerns to deal with. They battled the same fears that she did, and they managed the same frightening situations that she did. They didn't have objectivity necessary to provide encouragement. They could empathize, but they couldn't sympathize.

The one person who could, at least for her, was gone.

Kara felt warm arms surround her and she fought the urge to break down once more. She'd cried enough over this woman. She'd cried enough, period. But the show of affection, however out of place, had its own kind of comfort. She didn't know whether to pull away or to turn in his arms and hold on tight. She did know that the longer he held her, the harder it was to keep the tears inside.

"I'm sorry," he told her. Words. Useless words.

She didn't bother to answer.

"Kara, tell me what to do," he requested. "I haven't seen you like this since…" His words trailed off, but he didn't have to finish. She hadn't been this way since Zak's death. She was surprised that he even remembered.

"I don't know," she finally said honestly, her voice breaking once more.

Lee Adama was dressed as she was, in formal dress gray attire befitting the honor of a military member. Their priest had been anything but military, but she was so honored just the same. Standing before her locker, the door closed and her forehead resting against cold metal, Kara allowed Lee's warm heat to press against her and strengthen her for just a moment.

"This hurts," she finally stumbled. "And I'm tired of it. Everyone… I feel like there's nothing left. Every time I even think about caring… wanting…"

"It's okay to grieve, Kara."

"This isn't grieving!" She yelled in fury, turning in his arms to face him nose to nose. "This is hurting. Dammit, Lee, everyone dies. I always believed that there were two things in life that were certain: death and taxes. Well, there are still two things. Death has stayed the same, but the taxes have been replaced by pain… just constant, permanent, never-goes-away…"

Her voice trailed off as her head was pulled forward into his chest and she released a sob. "I understand," he told her.

"No, you don't," she muttered between sniffles. "Lee, you don't know… I know you've lost Zak, and I know that's bad. I also know you've lost your mom, and about a thousand other people, but this is different. This isn't the war, or a mistake, or an accident. Lee… this just… is."

"What do you mean?"

"The war could have been prevented; no, we didn't do it, but the theory is there. Accidents can be avoided. Mistakes can be corrected. But Lee, even when you do everything right, and even when it's no one's fault and you can't place blame… Lee, even knowing all that, it stillhurts.

His arms tightened around her. "I want to give you an answer," he said softly. "I know how important she was to you, Kara. I know you've been seeing her since the war began, and that when you wouldn't talk to me, you went to her. I know she was more than a friend, or an advisor…"

"She kept me sane," Kara told him.

"And you don't know what you'll do now?"

She sighed, her arms finally moving to tighten around his waist. "There are things you don't know," she said softly, her voice shaking. "Things I don't want you to know. I can't tell your father because he has too much to deal with as it is, and I wouldn't tell Tigh if my life depended on it. Sharon and Gail have their own lives. When it's all coming to pieces, sometimes…"

"Sometimes you need an ear?"

"Sometimes I need a silent ear," she corrected.

"Are you saying _I_ talk too much?"

Kara smiled through the tears at the affront in his eyes. "I guess you just want so much to help that you look for an answer, like now. Sometimes… there isn't one. And I know you've felt it, too. I know you were devastated when you lost your mom, but you still had your dad to talk to if you needed to."

"You have him, too," Lee reminded her, resting his chin on her bent head.

"Whether I like to… admit it or not. Lee, I am a woman, and sometimes we see things differently. Sometimes I want to share something because I'm excited, or rant because I'm mad, or just get – I don't know – validation that I'm not going crazy at times when you probably think I am."

Lee released her gently. "I'm sorry that I'm… not enough."

She shook her head, looking up into blue eyes that were showing more pain now than when they'd begun the discussion. "It's not about being enough, it's about being right. When you're dying of thirst, bread won't help you. Bread is just as necessary to survival, and so is air, but it's not water. Do you see the difference? She always said that it was about balance, and you're as much a part of that as she was. But…"

"It doesn't make you miss her any less?"

She shook her head. "It doesn't make this hurt any less. Lee, when will it end? When will the people I love stop leaving me? When will the pain stop?"

"Kara, I'm not going anywhere," he began, but she stopped him with an open-handed smack to his chest that made him jump.

"You can't say that," she told him in a voice that was all the more frightening for its quietness. "You go out there every frakking day, and every time you do, I could lose you. I've thought you were gone a dozen times, and it's not a feeling I want to get used to. You can't promise that you'll come back; I can't either."

Lee just shook his head, putting his arms back around her. Kara took what comfort she could from the embrace, but it was precious little. None of the them were invaluable in the fleet, even as none of them were expendable. But two things that seemed to be permanent residents in her heart were death and pain. She wasn't sure which was the worst. She wasn't sure she wanted to find out.

In any case, either one was a poor substitute for the hope and love that Eloshia had tried to give.

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He couldn't help her, and that was the worst of it. Lee stood there during the funeral watching Kara do her best to hold together. To an outsider she might appear unaffected, but he knew her better than that. She was an inch away from tears, her hands were shaking, and if she were startled he thought that she just might shatter.

He could only remember one other time when she'd been this lost, and it was a time that he'd deliberately blocked out as much as possible. On the morning of his brother's funeral, Lee had stood next to his mother to provide what little comfort he could. And on the other side of the casket, his father had stood with Kara. It had been one of those times when Lee had been caught between responsibilities. On the one hand, he needed to be with his mother. On the other, he was watching a close fried go through hell from a distance. There hadn't been much of a way to fix the situation, so he'd stood where he was, and had done the same thing Kara had; he had tried to keep himself together.

She had that same look about her now. In a way, it surprised him. She had never been unfeeling, but it took a lot to get past the walls she erected to keep herself safe. It had taken him years to batter his way inside, and many times along the way he had wondered if it was really worth the time and effort. He supposed it was. Unbidden, the thought came to him to wonder if she would be this lost if he were the one in the casket. He brushed the thought away; there was no point in getting morbid.

They had stood side-by-side through a lot of funerals in the last years. After the mass funeral following the destruction of the colonies, the next major tragedy had been losing the majority of their pilots, many of whom were Kara's friends. She had lost her own squadron in the initial attacks, but still she had allowed herself to befriend the refugee pilots from other battlestars. Losing so many of them in a freak accident had been a blow, but she had held herself steady even without his help. He supposed that then he hadn't been close enough to her to see a need, much less meet it if it was there. It was just as well; he'd been dealing with more than enough of his own baggage just learning to become the CAG for a waning flight wing.

Later, the smaller memorials for lost pilots – for nuggets she'd trained and retirees she'd led – had been sad occasions, and yet again he'd seen the interminable wall between her and the pain. A warrior couldn't survive if every death was taken personally; he was glad that she knew that. While it might look cold from the outside, it was something that he had learned the hard way. At one point he'd resented his father for that very insight, but in time he had learned to be grateful for the objectivity. If he took every death personally, he began to second-guess so many actions that he was ineffective as a leader. That wouldn't do anybody any good.

But this was different; Kara was different. Maybe this was the first person she'd lost who she actually needed. Maybe Eloshia was just a bigger part of her life than Lee had realized. Maybe Kara missed her own mother – and his – more than she had let on. Lee didn't know the reason, but he did know that she was balanced on a fine edge, and in all honesty he couldn't say which way she would go. He would have given anything to disregard the protocol and military expectation and slip his hand into hers, but a public display of affection wouldn't be appreciated. In addition, it might just be that nudge she needed to fall over the precipice, and not in the preferred direction. He decided to leave things as they were and just watch her, maintaining a close proximity in case she were to need him..

As with all of the services, words of hope were spoken, and scrolls were read, and hope eternal was preached. Lee didn't know what he believed anymore, but he could see that the words meant to comfort just weren't doing the job. The hands which had been showing tremors were now shaking openly, and Kara was so pale that he was almost sure she was going to pass out. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and the shadows surrounding them were puffy and dark.

Fortunately, in this service he was not across the casket from her, but standing beside her. On the down-side, they were in a rather obvious location towards the front of the ranks, but at least he was in range of her. When her body began to sway as though buffeted by an invisible wind, he was glad that he had kept close. As discretely as possible, he eased forward and to his right, moved in close enough to provide support without being overtly obvious, and said a silent prayer that she wouldn't pass out.

"Take a breath, Kara," he said softly, poking her gently in the ribs behind the shield of her body.

He felt her do so, and he nudged again. She breathed again, and her body seemed to become sturdier. He remained close, but backed up enough to eliminate the physical touch that was affecting him and might embarrass her. Kara was never fragile, seldom vulnerable; seeing her this way just made him want to hold, guard, and protect her. She wouldn't appreciate any of those sentiments. It didn't make the feeling any less real. In any case, she seemed to be out of imminent danger of letting her knees buckle and getting up-close and personal with the deck.

From that point, the rest of the service seemed to go quickly. Before he knew it, the final prayers were being said, the blessings were requested from the Lords of Kobol, and the room echoed a resounding, "So say we all."

Lee was grateful as the group began to break apart, allowing him to move closer to Kara without being obvious about it. There was a good deal of physical contact going on around them – reassuring hugs, encouraging pats – so it wasn't as out of place as it might have been before for him to place a gentle hand at the small of her back to guide her from the hangar. He kept an eye on her, noting that her walk was almost shuffling and her shaking had not yet subsided, but she looked better than she had during the ceremony.

Once they were back in the officers' quarters, Kara took a seat on her bunk to begin removing her uniform and Lee started to peel himself out of the dress grays which were designed far more for show than for comfort. He was hanging his jacket back in his locker when he felt her hand on his shoulder, and he turned to see what she wanted.

What he found was something near an assault. Kara had plastered herself to him, locked her lips to his, and had her hands in places that they had decidedly avoided in the past. The sensations were overwhelming to say the least, and if he was honest they weren't unwanted so much as unsolicited.

And he found himself with a dilemma. Kara was kissing him. It was something he'd thought about a thousand times, and dreamed of on occasion, and neither came anywhere near the reality of the experience. Her lips were warm and damp, her attention avid, and her body against his was just… perfect.

But the situation was just the opposite, and he knew it. One of the hardest things he'd ever done in his life was to use sweet reason when he would much rather ride the flow of emotion, but this was one of those times when he knew that he had to do what was right, and not what he wanted. The trick was going to be accomplishing what must be without destroying what was left of a woman he cared very much about.

Pushing her away wasn't an option; it just wasn't. So instead of pushing, he opted to pull her in close against him, long arms using well-honed strength to still her movements against him even as he continued the ravenous kiss that she had started. But somewhere in the fervor, he moved his lips from her mouth to her cheek, and then her neck, and then to her shoulder. Finally, he had her body pinned to his, her head against his shoulder, and he just held on.

She tolerated it for a moment, and then pulled back. Reluctantly he let her go, watching as confusion clouded the hurt which was evident in her green eyes. "What was that?" she finally asked, pulling her arms from around him to cross them over her chest. So much for not hurting her.

He took a motion to martial his thoughts, and a few deep breaths to get his body back in line. His head might know that she was hurting, but his body only knew that Kara had been really, really close, and he'd just let her go. "Don't think that I don't want this," he said softly.

"But?"

"But not this way," he said reluctantly, not surprised at the flare of embarrassment that he saw in her expression. "I want to be the only person on your mind, and the only thing in your heart when it happens. Right now, neither one of us can give what we deserve."

She tried to back away, but he didn't let her. The material from her shirts brushed against him, the texture distracting him and setting his body back into turmoil. She had taken off her jacket, but pants and undershirts were still in place, and for that he was truly grateful. He wished that he was still wearing his own undershirts as well, but he'd yanked them off and tossed them in his locker before he'd grabbed the hanger for his uniform.

"Lee, I need… I just want something to go right," she said softly. "There's been so much death, and pain, and disappointment. I just wanted…"

"Look, I'm not going to lecture you on the stages of grief," he said with a gentle hug. He still hadn't released her, and he didn't plan to until he was fairly sure that he wouldn't be hit the moment she was free. "And I'm not going to tell you that you'll regret this if you do it now, or that it'll mean less because of the timing. But Kara, I'll wonder about those things, and I don't want to spend the rest of my life wondering. When it happens, it's going to be because we want it, not just because you need it."

To his surprise, she didn't argue. Instead, with her arms still wrapped firmly around herself, she stepped forward and up against him again, her head on his chest. He did the only thing he could; he tugged her in tight, holding her together even as she held herself. Moments later he felt the dampness on his chest, and rested his chin on her hair as the first of many tears began to fall.

They might have stood like that for an hour or three; he wasn't keeping track. Gradually though, he felt her body leaning more heavily against him and he gently eased her to his bunk. It took some maneuvering to get her boots off without really letting go of her, and even more to manage his own. Finally he had kicked out of his boots and twisted around so that he was resting against the wall with Kara half next-to and half on top of him. The tears had stopped, but she was still shaking, and he wasn't ready to let go. He might have rejected what she had offered, but he sure as hell wasn't going to reject her. Not tonight; not any night.

So Lee held her, and he rubbed her back, and he wished more than anything that he had an answer to what she needed. But all he had was a simple fear that she had been pushed too far, and that something this seemingly normal – the death of an old woman – had done more to crush her spirit than the death of a world. He carried the fear that Kara wouldn't pull out of this. He'd nearly lost her on so many occasions, to misunderstandings and misplaced loyalties and unintentional betrayals; but to lose her to the natural order of the universe seemed cruel.

And so he held her, because he was fairly sure that if they could get through the night, that she would be okay. He was certain that if she'd make it through the night, then everything after that would fall into place. It wouldn't be easy, and it wouldn't be simple, but he believed that it could happen.

It was hours into the night, a night that was punctuated with shuddering sobs and the erratic clutching of her hands on his shirt, when he finally relaxed his grip on her and allowed himself to sleep. Later, he would wonder why the quarters had stayed so quiet when many others should have been in there, and later he would wonder how such a few hours could go on for so very, very long. But for then, he just knew that she was with him and that he wasn't – not for anything in the world – going to let her go.

Because Lee was tired of it, too. He had lost his brother, and his mom, and more friends and colleagues along the way than he could count. And this night, there was no way he was going to lose one more.


End file.
